


Grappling With Each Other

by Hydra_bitch_please01



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Force Sensitive Qi'ra, Hand to Hand Combat Training, Maul's got a real dick, Maura (star wars), Mentions of Sexual Assault, Qi'ra is a badass, Sexual Tension, Student Qi'ra, Teacher Maul, let's all be honest it's just easier lmao, semi canon compliant, so he was cut off at the knees, some head canon, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 09:23:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_bitch_please01/pseuds/Hydra_bitch_please01
Summary: For some time after leaving Han and joining Maul on Dathomir, Qi'ra adjusted to her new life as second in command of Crimson Dawn. One day, Maul challenged her to something she couldn't refuse: a sparring session. But things didn't exactly go as planned.For either of them.





	Grappling With Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> After hours and hours of researching martial arts and lightsaber training styles for a short prompt fill this turned into a full blown fic and I have no idea where it came from... I'm writing a few other fics at the same time, so I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to update, but I promise I will! 
> 
> *Rubs hands together* This should be fun folks.

Qi’ra took a deep breath through her nose as she reached Maul’s office, steeling herself to be in the presence of a force user. Looking down at her travel attire - a pair of well worn pants, a tan leather jacket with a high cut black short sleeved top underneath it and lace up combat boots - she frowned. Rarely did she allow herself to be seen in such informal clothing; only a short step up from the garbage she wore on Corellia. If the man Maul sent for her hadn’t been so insistent on her immediate attendance the second she docked the ship she would have changed into a dress; something far more sexy and less comfortable. To some, especially within the syndicate, her insistence in wearing form fitting dresses and makeup made her a tease, a flirt, a whore even. She knew the truth though. Her wardrobe was her armor.

Maul wasn’t known for his patience. She wouldn’t dare make him wait.

She respected the man, his intellect and strength. His thirst for blood and his determination to be top dog. Ever since the first time they met over a year ago, she knew she could learn more from him than she ever gained from Vos. While he barely ever paid attention to her during their short trips to Dathomir with Dryden, she knew he was her way to power - to some semblance of freedom - even if she knew a slave with debts, like her, would never truly be free. First and foremost, she was here to protect herself. Failure would result in her own death.

And Han’s.

She couldn’t forget Han. The last thing the naive man needed was Maul out for revenge. A part of her still loved him. She always would, but he was too good, hopeful and still surprisingly innocent. He would never last in her world. She refused to let him get hurt because of her actions or as a result of stomach churning, despicable Vos’s. Qi’ra protected Han all those years ago and she’d do so again; he was the only one she _could_ protect and, anyway, he deserved it.

Pursing her lips, she tightened her ponytail, fixed her bangs, squared her shoulders and knocked.

“Come in,” he rasped through the door. The sound of Maul’s voice simultaneously enticed and terrified her.

Qi’ra opened the door and walked in, her boots thumping against the cold metal floor while holding her head held high. “You called,” she asked, forcing her voice to exhibit a calm and collected demeanor.

She found him sitting at his desk, glowing yellow eyes ringed with ruby red, staring at a holo in his hands. Frowning, he didn’t move. His form was lost in a loose fitted tunic. For a moment she allowed her eyes to roam his body with a curiosity she refused to analyze. Placing the holo on his desk, he looked up, fixing her with a stare so intense she forced her body not to flee.

“Good. You’re back,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual.

Refusing to blink or budge, she nodded and waited, raising her eyebrows slightly.

The corner of his lip flickered into what she could only assume was a hint of a smirk. It was gone instantly. He stood up, the metal joints of his knees squealed gratingly as he walked toward her.

“Today, we train.”

“Oh,” she said, startled. He hadn’t asked her to train since that first time she first joined him on Dathomir when they had sparred with swords. She had assumed he wasn’t impressed enough to follow through with another session.

“This time,” he explained, bowing his head in a polite gesture, “No weapons. Hand to hand combat only.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, swallowing her fear.

“Good.” He eyed her attire. “What you’re wearing will do. Meet me at the training facility in twenty. Do not be late.”

Grinding her teeth at the flippant way he commanded people she nodded and turned.

“And Qi’ra,” he added, making her freeze on the spot. “Do try to prove to me that Vos made an intelligent choice in making you his top lieutenant. He fought for you to be next in line, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have others who could replace you at the drop of a hat.”

Biting the inside of her lip, she smiled coyly. “I will do my best,” she cooed with just a hint of bite, before turning around and walking out of the room, speeding up the farther away she got. If she needed to prove her worth, then he was in for a rude awakening.

Qi’ra entered the deserted facility with minutes to spare, determined and eerily calm. She had spent the past 15 minutes on the floor of her suite meditating. Knowing Maul would attempt to throw her off with an insult again, she knew she needed the preparation if she were to endure it without snapping and giving him an opening.

Until recently she hadn’t spent much time one on one with him, but she knew of the man, the sith, Darth Maul, quite well. Ever since she’d first met him, she’d been compiling data from holos, stories told by drunk patrons of _First Light_ and during every opportunity she got off world.

She knew of his obsession with the jedi called Kenobi, of how he lost his legs and his title because of the man. She knew of the time when people say he lost his mind in the midst of the Clone Wars, of when he first started the Shadow Collective and then pieced together the remnants to create Crimson Dawn. She’d studied his movements in the short time they’d spent together, both lithe and nimble, yet battle worn and ever so slightly frail. Scars marred his skin and the subtlest hint of a limp was noticeable after a long day of meetings or training. Yet, even without the force, she knew he was a formidable foe. With it, she had no idea what he was truly capable of. It was unsettling. From spending years at Vos’s side, she’d heard stories upon stories of how he handled the syndicate, gaining invaluable insight into the psyche of the man. The monster, as some would call him. Those stories, however, also instilled in her a fear unlike anything she’d ever felt.

As she wrapped her hands, he walked in. Even without hearing him speak or the harsh metal screech of his legs, his presence was unlike any she had ever known. He was unmistakable.

“Let’s begin,” he said, forgoing a traditional greeting.

 

****

 

She didn’t last long.

It took a minute at most before she was overwhelmed by his maneuvers, stuck in a frenzy cycle of defense and retreat as he advanced, attacking and swinging his fists.  She got in one blow to his side, but it did nothing. In the confusion she found an opening and missed the signs. She lifted her leg to land a bruising kick to his ribs and he evaded her in a whirlwind move. Bending down, arms outstretched he flung his body with precision into a butterfly kick, landing to her side with a heavy clunk of metal hitting ground. Before she could respond, he swung his leg out, hitting the backs of her knees. She fell to the floor, hands and knees hitting the cushioned mat.

“Get up,” he ordered with ease, not even sounding out of breath.

She wondered how helpful the mechanical legs were… Did they make him stronger? Where did they end?

Looking up at him with a mixture of indifference, defiance and a hint of masked terror, she rose on her feet and lifted her arms in the proper position, keeping her elbows close to her body.

“Vary your movements. You’re insufferably predictable,” he spat with gruff ease, turning his back on her. He swiftly pulled his shirt from his torso and threw it on the ground nearby.

She froze, frowning. Why would he place his back to her? Did he trust her? No, that couldn’t be it. Was he so confident in his ability that he viewed her as no threat? Was he showing off? The gesture would set her off normally if it wasn’t for the way his back muscles rippled with every move of his arms. The surprisingly smooth maze of ruby and obsidian skin mesmerizing her entirely. In shock, she shook her head and refocused on why she was here. It certainly wasn’t to fuck the infamous Darth Maul, even if she thought about about it occasionally.

A slight creep of heat spread across her cheeks when he fixed his harsh gaze on her. Not seeming to notice, he said, “One of the many things I learned as a Sith was Juyo, the art and philosophy of manipulating, using and controlling one’s emotions before, during and after battle. It is a state of mind.” Taking a step forward, he crossed his arms. “Channeling your emotions into the fight. _Feeling_ it until your attack is vicious, gracefully malignant, with the ultimate goal of absolute victory. Nothing else matters. Winning comes with the unpredictableness and roar of a manka cat while calculating your enemy’s every move, every breath and keeping them off balance with your own. Chaos is an illusion and it is your greatest weapon.”

Scoffing she glared at him while focusing on steadying her breathing, listening to the shallow air going in and out of her nose as she watched for any sudden movements on his part. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, careful to keep her emotions in check. Surely this was a test.

“I’m helping. You have potential unlike any other student I’ve had.”

Qi’ra’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.

Smirking, he took another step forward. “For one, you are far superior in your ability to spot flagrant flattery for what it is, a manipulation.”

She stayed in place, muscles relaxed and ready; he could easily attack any second. One didn’t have to be a genius to decipher that Maul loved his tricks.

“You use it often, Qi’ra. Don’t you?” he asked, smoothly. “On the men who work for me? On Vos? On Beckett?”

Her eyes flickered to his lips, the baritone of his voice setting her skin aflame in a way it shouldn’t. If she wasn’t afraid he’d use the distraction to land a hit, she’d respond and keep staring.

“Or on Han Solo, perhaps?”

Panic flooded her thoughts, clenching her throat in horror as her eyes widened. How did he know? Vos never told him about Beckett’s team. He viewed them as inconsequential, unimportant. Unworthy of his master’s time. Taking a steadying breath, she took two steps backwards and stayed silent.

“Wise choice… You aren’t easily baited, unlike my last second-in-command. But perhaps that’s a mistake; it made him easy to control. Do people think you are easy to control, Qi’ra?”

When he didn’t advance, she licked her lips and said, “Depends on who you ask.” Good. Her voice sounded even, unaffected.

He tossed his head back, appearing utterly relaxed, and laughed; a loud crackle of enthusiasm shattering the quiet in the facility. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

She almost blinked. She swore he sounded proud, even impressed.

This was without a doubt a test. A test of what, she didn’t know. Her ability to control her emotions or manipulate others? Her endurance? Her intellect? It could’ve been any of the above or something else entirely. All she knew was that so far she was passing. That much was clear for he was thrilled. And not like a nexu about to pounce on his prey, but a man on the verge of winning a war who was already celebrating.

“I thought you didn’t think I was worthy of training,” she said cooly, unsure of how much she should give away.

The corner of his lips twisted, his eyes wide in amusement. “Why did you think that?”

And in this moment she understood what he wanted. He wanted to be challenged.

She could do that.

Closing her fists, her nails bit into the cloth on her palms. The sharp pain helped her focus. Swallowing, she said bitterly, “Because it’s been over a month and we’ve sparred _once_ \- if you could even call it that - and half the time you refuse to see me when I call on you about something to do with the syndicate. I studied Teräs Käsi with Vos for over two years. I’ve taken out dozens of your enemies. Alone... I deserve to be heard.”

Nostrils flaring he eyed her like a caged animal trying to escape, but for once she didn’t feel like one. “Remember who you are speaking with, Qi’ra. You do not want to test me,” he hissed, jaw clenched.

Letting her arms fall to her sides, she took one step forward and tilted her head so she could glance up at him. Feeling brave she refused to let her fear show.

“Maul,” she said, drawing out the word with a sneer, “You may be my boss, but you do _not_ own me. My chains were cut, my debt paid, the moment Dryden Vos died. I am not a slave or a puppet. Nor am I a _whore_ , regardless of what others think or want of me.” She stepped further into his space, unruly wrath exploding within her like the warm blood flowing through her veins. “I may be young, but I have opinions and thoughts and as your second-in-command I will share them with you. And you will listen to me, _Sir_.”

His golden irises locked with hers, only inches apart and for a moment she felt something. Something she never felt in her short life: understood.

Sure, she’d felt heard and loved by Han, but they were teenagers. A lot had changed since then. He had always put her on a pedestal, seeing only the good in her; he still did. But she was different now.

Maul nodded curtly, just once, and unclenched his jaw, licking his lips. “See, _that,_ right there? The rage that’s coiled deep within ready to burst if only you’d let it out, that’s what you need for victory,” he said, his voice deeper than she recalled ever hearing. “If you can harness it, let it seep into your very bones and not let it control you, then it will feed your violence, your attack. It will give you endurance, speed, strength. It will bring terror into the hearts of men you slaughter. Fear, like seduction, is as valuable a tool as any… Use it.”

Qi’ra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and took a step backwards, her cheeks turning red.

“And young one, control is nothing without knowledge. Vos’s on such topics was underdeveloped at best, insignificant and pitiable at worst. You may have trained with the man for a time, but the fool should never have been your teacher… I will, however, listen,” he agreed slowly, eyeing her with a slight frown. “And teach you, if you wish.”

“You won’t pawn me off on one of your underlings?” she huffed, only partly teasing. She didn’t know how she felt about the offer and needed to lighten the mood, even if Maul wasn’t one for light.

“I am here, am I not?”

“You are.”

“Good. Then let us truly begin,” he said, his mechanical legs creaking as he bent them, staring her dead on. “My first lesson is this; Do not calm yourself, Qi’ra. Use your anger, your righteous indignation with any who have treated you as less than, a Corellian rat. Even me. Use it and let it fuel your actions. It will help you.”

Qi’ra let out a shaky breath. She had been holding on to so much for so long. Control has been her only salvation.

“How?” she asked, her throat dry.

“You let go.”

 

****

 

She did as he asked. She let go. And with it came a fury of welled up anxiety and tension she didn’t know existed. Grunting and screaming she attacked him, only letting him gain an advance every two or three hits. But he was still considerably more trained, more experienced. It was a lost cause, which only made her more angry.

Keeping her attacks as random as she could manage, she struck, kicked, pushed and pulled with abandon. He sometimes trapped her with an aggressive strike. Sometimes sidestepping her all together with a practiced ease. But rarely was he full on attacking. He was tiring her out, she realized mid block after minutes of fighting.

Changing tactics, she used a move she hadn’t done in over a month, hoping to gain the upper hand. Propelling herself into a jump, she grabbed Maul’s arm and flipped over. She landed on her feet and he stumbled. But he didn’t fall like other opponents.

In a second of confused panic on her part, he bent his knees, one leg out straight, and twirled in a dizzying movement. Her legs flew forward while her back slammed against the mat with a loud jolt. Standing up, he jumped, his legs flying through the air in an aerial kick meant only for show. Landing right in front of her he leaned forward and grasped her throat, keeping her on the ground. His long slender fingers, gloved in ebony bantha leather, wrapping tightly around her neck. Back pressed against the mat, he crouched over her form, caging one of her legs under him.

Trying to keep her head, she desperately felt around the ground for an object, anything to use against him. His warm palm pressing against her windpipe, she could barely breathe, but she couldn’t lose. She refused to.

“Tap out,” Maul hissed.

While desperately trying to breathe, she glared into his warm golden red eyes, ground her teeth and shook her head. Never, she thought.

A growl escaped from his lips.

Her vision started to blur on the edges. Anger and panic overwhelming her suddenly that maybe he wouldn’t stop, she dug her nails into his hand, piercing the fabric, and pushed on his chest with her other. He hissed but stayed put. He was too strong and he wasn’t going to stop.

Instincts kicking in Qi’ra lifted her leg to wrap around his legs. His hand relaxed slightly, his eyes sliding to stare at her gasping lips as her foot met her target. With a skip of her heart she slammed the heel of her foot against the back of his thigh right above his durasteel leg.

He grunted. She did it again, but this time using all her strength.

He screamed in agony, the leather clad hand sliding down her neck releasing his tight grip. Quickly recovering he grasped her thigh before she could kick again and pulled it up against his leg. Nostrils flaring, eyes wild, his hands gripped the base of her neck and thigh with savage mallace.

A moment of pure panic ran through her as she tried to recover her breath. Suddenly, before Qi’ra could do anything about it she felt the familiar prickle of someone entering her mind, poking and prodding for something specific.

_Standing over a man, who laid on the ground of a deserted and dust covered cold bar, she held a long sword. “My dear old master, just relax,” Qi’ra snarled, bending over so she was only inches away from his face, the blade’s edge pressed against the man’s stomach. “It’ll be over soon.”_

_She plunged the sword into his flesh and twisted it in his gut. He went lax, his head falling to the dirt covered ground with a dull thump. But he was still alive, staring at her as blood coated his mouth._

_“You whore,” he coughed as crimson dripped down his lips. “Don’t lie, you enjoyed every second.”_

_Blind fury overwhelmed her as she withdrew the knife’s edge and stabbed him again, letting the blade go in as far as it could before hitting bone. The old man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he breathed no more._

_Her chest heaved shakily as she stared at Sarkin Enneb’s dead body. The man who bought her from Lady Proxima after Han disappeared. The man who made her his slave in more ways than one._

_A man laughed and clapped behind her. “Well done, Qi’ra!” Dryden Vos said._

_Turning around she steeled herself once more, refusing to let him see how emotional the kill was to her, nor why she wanted to do it._

_“Thank you, Vos, I will forever be in your debt for this.”_

Qi’ra gasped as she came back to herself after relieving one of the worst days of her life. Maul’s eyes widened with something she didn’t recognize for it wasn’t cold and calculating, but soft, understanding and perhaps a bit pitying.

She shrugged out of his hold, coughing for air, and he let her crawl out from under him. He stood, as did she. Now feet away from each other, he looked almost haunted and confused.

“What was that for?” she gasped, clenching her jaw.

“I didn’t -”

“ _What_?” she snapped, a wave of conflicting emotions pounding against her mind, threatening to drown her.

“I - I apologize,” he whispered.

Her jaw dropped. Did he just -

“Go rest,” he interrupted. “Place ice on your neck or it will bruise.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He turned to grab his tunic. “And Qi’ra, meet me back here tomorrow at the same time.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you enjoyed the chapter please leave kudos and comments (they truly give me life and speed up the writing process) and come follow me on tumblr @fabradicalfem


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